


Taste

by A_Candle_For_Sherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Parentlock, Post-Canon, fluffy fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 18:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10599975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Candle_For_Sherlock/pseuds/A_Candle_For_Sherlock
Summary: Based off of a tumblr headcanon by @peggingbenedictcumberbatch: "I actually love the idea of John slowly becoming a bit more queer in how he looks...being with Sherlock lets him embrace dressing and acting how he wants to."





	

Some mornings, now, Sherlock leaves his hair ungelled, silky and loose, to savor the way John runs a careless hand over it, passing by. He’ll let his stubble remain until he gets a chance to rub his face roughly in John’s neck and hear his surprised giggle. After a shower, he stands in front of the mirror and smooths his hands over his naked belly, feeling the softening, and smiles, because John cooks for them every night, magnificent food, and it’s good; it’s more than good. They're home.

Meanwhile something’s happening to John as he settles into the fact of Sherlock-and-John: he’s becoming clearer around the edges, visible, vivid. His jeans hold him closer and his shirts get brighter; jewel tones that set off the silver of his sculpted hair. He steps out with wildly patterned socks peeking above his sensible shoes. Sherlock never mentions the layers of John’s self-protection coming off; but he looks his fill.

One night they’re reading together in the quiet of the living room when Rosie peeks her head in; on her way out to meet friends. Sherlock reminds her to take her pocketknife, and not to take drinks from people she doesn’t know, and John asks her to text him in two hours and tell him how it’s going. She smiles her reassurances, Yes, of course, yes, I will; asks Sherlock if he likes her nail polish (teal with a subtle sparkle) and he says he does. It goes nicely with her top. She leaves. It’s quiet.

“I liked her polish too,” John says. “I wish she’d ask me what I think of her outfits.”

“She knows which of us has taste."

“Hey!”

“All right, your taste is fine. But no one would expect you to have a passionate opinion on nail polish, John.” Sherlock’s tone is indulgent.

“What if I do?” John’s blushing, but his chin rises bravely.

Sherlock gives him a good long stare and then starts to smile. “John. Do you?”

John’s blush deepens. “I used to sneak into Harry’s room and try hers on when I was six, seven years old.” He sighs. “Not stupid enough to leave it on more than five minutes. If mum had caught me there’d have been hell to pay.”

“Your mother,” says Sherlock, clearly, “was an idiot. And Rosie has an excellent array of nail colours in the catchall next to the sink.”

Rosie comes home at half ten to find her dads in the kitchen, spiking their mugs of hot cocoa with the Christmas liquor, with the third Star Wars movie on pause in the sitting room. Sherlock’s nails are a deep, rich red, and John’s are a shimmery, starry blue, and they’re both mussed and blushy enough that she says promptly, “Hi dads. Bye dads,” grabs a tin of biscuits and heads straight upstairs. She knows very well when to get out of their way.

Downstairs, the blare of the opening notes of the Star Wars theme almost covers the sound of their laughter.


End file.
